


Tragedy of King Garon of Nohr

by LilacPrince



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Physical Abuse, Possession, Pre-Canon, minor as in "don't even have a name but boy they sure are dead", oh yeah and also, quite a lot of it too, standard warnings for Garon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacPrince/pseuds/LilacPrince
Summary: At first he thought it was just grief. Then he thought he might not be as good a man as his son thought. By the time he realised it was something else, it was far too late.---The progress of Garon's possession, and the crimes his body commits without his control.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Tragedy of King Garon of Nohr

**Author's Note:**

> Started thinking of how slow Takumi's possession was in Conquest, and how that implies Garon's possession was slow as well. Perhaps even slower, considering the different circumstances. And from that, this was born.

It went slowly.

Garon didn't exactly understand anything was wrong at first. Certainly, his mood had turned more foul, but who could blame him? He had lost the love of his life, and he had tried to drown the sadness in alcohol and women. Desperate to dull the ache in his heart, but reminded of her every time he felt the soft touch of a new lover's hands on his skin. Children, born from desperation and the desecration of Katerina's memory. Evidence of the insults he created in a try to escape the mourning that consumed him. Yes, who could blame him for never smiling anymore when everywhere he looked he saw memories of his love, as well as the sins he had done to escape her.

It was small things at first. Things that usually brought him pleasure that he now saw as dull and grey. A sharper tone in his voice. Shorter patience. He was colder now. Despite the layers he wrapped himself in he was still cold. Ice had taken root in his very core, and sometimes it found it's way into his mouth, coating the words that fell from his lips.

He still blamed Katerina. She had been his fire. The flame had been carried in her blazing red eyes and her warm soul, her power and fire evident in the way she wielded Siegfried. She had been a flame, and with her extinguished Garon was left with an overwhelming black coldness in his chest. A cold that he couldn't shake, no matter what he did. Not even in his outbursts of hot rage did he feel anything but cold.

But the coldness was nothing compared to the loss of control. That too started small, moments when he couldn't stop himself, when he said things he didn't mean, when his hands clenched around vulnerable things on their own accord. It terrified him, those moments of white hot rage that consumed him, all except the icey core deep within him. A cold flame, so cold that it burned, and when it disappeared he was left with actions that couldn't be undone.

He could vividly recall the very first time he had realised it had gone too far. He couldn't recall the reason, couldn't remember exactly what it had been Xander was saying. But the very moment that the back of his hand had connected with Xander's cheek had been burned into his soul.

Garon had never considered himself an evil man. He was prone to anger, yes, and the anger of a king was a dangerous thing. He had made rash decisions in his anger, and he knew he had blood on his hands. But blood was the fate of royalty. The throne had been soaked in blood even before he had ascended it, and the blood he had spilled had always been for the good of Nohr. But even so... He had never, ever, intentionally hurt someone he had loved before. To harm his own children? The idea had never even crossed his mind.

Yet Xander was standing before him with a hand pressed to his hurting cheek. It was smeared with dark red blood, drops of it trickling between his fingers, glittering in the candlelight. Blood that coated the rings on Garon’s hand, the red trembling before him. Blood on the back of his hand, slowly trickling down the golden rings. His son’s blood. His beloved son, that he had always cared for and loved, who now had blood running down his cheek. Blood Garon had drawn, pain Garon had caused. The silence was deafening, almost worse than the sound of the slap that was ringing in Garon's head. But the worst thing was the look in Xander's wide eyes. Pain and confusion, overshadowed by the fear. The look Xander gave him was worse than the knowledge that he had harmed his own son.

"F-Father..?"

That look, that terrified whisper, broke Garon's heart. Garon desperately wanted to hug him. Wanted to hold Xander tight to his chest, wanted to apologize, wanted to assure him this would never, ever happen again. He deeply wished he could turn back time, to undo this terrible sin. Wanted to rush back behind the line he had crossed, wanted to restore Xander’s faith in him that now had been shattered. He wanted to wipe that look of fear away from his son’s eyes, and to never again be the cause of that fear. His mouth opened, apologies on the tip of his tongue, and...

"Get out of my sight."

The look of betrayal was somehow worse than the fear, and before Garon could say anything to take it back, Xander turned on his heel and walked away with his hand pressed against his cheek. When the door had slammed shut after his son Garon collapsed in his chair, confusion and self-hatred swirling in his chest. He couldn't blame this on Katerina anymore. His wrong-doings wasn't her fault. Xander's red eyes was the only thing Garon had left of Katerina's flame, and he had poisoned them with fear and pain. Never again would he get to see them glitter with admiration. Admiration he wasn't worthy of, of course, but it had been pleasant. A last remnant of Katerina in his life. Now it was gone, and it was his own fault.

It became worse over the years.

He lost control more often, in longer periods. Sometimes he would have whole audiences with no control over his words or actions. More violence he couldn't stop. More pain and fear instilled in those around him. No matter what he did he couldn't stop it. It was like he was slipping away, but his body remained and wreaked havoc on all he held dear. He didn't understand it (was this the pain of losing the love of his life? How did anyone survive this?) and he couldn't stop it. It frustrated and terrified him. He could barely stand Xander's presence anymore, couldn't stand those red eyes on him. Katerina would hate him for what he had become, for the violence he had inflicted, and despite himself kept on inflicting, on their child. He would have to beg for her forgiveness in the afterlife.

Sometimes he lost consciousness. It was like he had fallen asleep, and when he woke up his body was fully dressed, it was the middle of the day, and he was in the middle of giving out orders for something he couldn't remember what it was. Sometimes he would black out, with no memory of what had happened those hours he had been gone. The things he could recall was never good.

He remembered Camilla failing a scouting mission he had given her. It had been a small mistake, a tactical error done by an inexperienced child, and while there had been issues none of the soldiers that he had sent had died because of it. It was bad, yes, but it was an understandable mistake by someone of her age and minimal experience. A mistake that complicated things, but didn't mean the end of the world.

He had responded by pressing Camilla's head down against his desk, his axe against her neck. He could recall, word for word, what he had promised her. "Fail me again and you will pay the same price your mother paid when she became a liability." The blade of the axe had pressed into Camilla's neck, drawing blood, pressing the weight of his words deeper into Camilla. It was the same axe he had used to behead her mother, after all. While Xander's eyes had been swirling with pain and confusion, in Camilla's there was none. Only fear, cold fear in her wide lone eye as she whimpered out apologies.

He remembered Leo's room full of flowers, and Leo sitting on the floor with a magic tome in front of him, willing another flower to rise. Another flower to add to his collection, or to put in Elise's hair. Leo was a powerful mage, and he had a lot of potential. Growing flowers was a magic he had mastered at a young age, and it had been honed to perfection, evident by the lavish flowers that littered his room. Garon had been told it was difficult magic, and he had been very proud when Leo had presented the first flowers he had grown. Now they were even more gorgeous, intricate and perfect.

Leo had cried as Garon crumpled the newest flower in his fist, ruining the perfect beauty. Despite his young son's protests and pleading some of the flowers were tossed into the fireplace, others trampled under Garon's boots. Leo's wailing didn't stop until Garon grabbed his collar and pulled him close, nearly lifting Leo off the ground, and slapped him. "Flowers are useless to Nohr. Useless and expendable, just like you will be if you spend all your time growing flowers instead of learning something useful." Leo's eyes had flickered with fear and pain, but that had been overshadowed by bitterness as he mumbled that he would do better from now on. Garon never saw another flower in Leo's rooms. (At least not until Leo was chosen to wield Brynhildr, which he immediately used to grow large trees. A fact that Garon, by then long since reduced to a mere spectator in his own body, found thoroughly amusing.)

He remembered Elise gaining a friend. She had sneaked off into the underground capital again, determined to get away from the castle and get a "real" friend, as she put it. This time she had finally found someone, a boy in her age. He had been unaware Elise was the princess, he only thought she was some weird but kind girl who he enjoyed playing with from time to time. Garon would most likely never have found out about his daughter's friend had it not been for a necklace Elise had dropped during one of her outings with her friend. The boy had pocketed it, to keep it safe until he could return it the next time he saw Elise. That wasn't an excuse the guards had believed in when they had found a commoner boy with the princess' missing necklace, and they had dragged the boy before Garon.

Elise had pleaded, of course, saying that the boy wasn't a thief but her friend. But pleading and begging had never been enough to stop Garon before, and it wasn't enough now. Mercifully enough Xander had covered Elise's eyes with his hand, Camilla holding Elise tightly close, shushing Elise's cries as Garon raised his axe against the boy. Elise never got to see the bleeding body on the floor in the throne room. Xander's hand had been clasped over her eyes the entire time as he and Camilla dragged her out of the throne room, Elise's wails echoing in the vast hall.

Garon wasn't sure if it was worse to be aware of what was happening, what his body was doing with him having no control over it, or if it was worse to be gone for long periods of time and be left to wonder what could have happened while he was deep in the darkness. Had there been even worse things he had done to his children? Harsher words, deeper wounds, more blood? It was agony remembering what he had done, and agony to not know if there had been worse things.

He could barely recall anything with Corrin. As soon as Corrin's name was mentioned, or they were present, Garon was forced out of his own head. Whatever it was that was taking a hold on him was interested in Corrin, taking as much place as possible in Garon's body when Corrin was close. Garon was lucky if he even got a glimpse of the child before he was forced into the darkness again. It scared him, not knowing how deep Corrin's wounds ran, left to guessing what his body was capable of. It was a game that sickened him. He couldn't stand the idea of hurting his children, but his body seemed to have no qualms with it. So he was left to guessing, trying to figure out just what his hands had done to this poor child.

It wasn't until months after Corrin had been placed in the Northern Fortress that Garon learned that Sumeragi was dead. Killed, by his own hands, while Garon hadn't even been present in his own body. The knowledge cut him deep, leaving him in such shock and agony that he barely was aware of what was going on around him, left in a mist as he desperately tried to access those memories. He hated knowing, hated being aware of all the evil he did, but he had to know. He didn't deserve to run away from the pain he inflicted, he had to see that hurt look in the eyes of those he loved, those who used to love him, those he betrayed. For Garon not to have been even present at Sumeragi's death...

It was much too late by then. He knew he had no way of taking control over his body again, had no way of deciding when to be aware. He was being forced out of his body. Or rather... buried in it. Every day, every time he was gone, he could feel himself being pushed deeper down, another shovel of dirt upon his coffin. Garon had never been one to give up easily. Had always been stubborn, a fighter, who refused to admit defeat. But now, now that he was forced into a living hell of hurting those he loved over and over again, their begging and pleading ringing in his head, their blood on his hands, the looks of pain and fear in their eyes burning in his soul... Garon was ready to surrender. To die. To disappear. Anything to be released from that hell. He was ready to beg for forgiveness in the afterlife, wanted the long list of his crimes to end already. Every new shovel of dirt on his coffin was a mercy. But it was taking so long.

His death went slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> Just realised everything I've posted on ao3 so far has been angst. Huh.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are highly appreciated!


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